


(Love is Just a) Bloodsport

by rei_c



Series: Otherside [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Bloodplay, Crossdressing, Drug Use, Genderplay, M/M, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-31
Updated: 2009-10-31
Packaged: 2018-06-09 23:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6927619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor is very good at underestimating Sam Winchester. One day, that's going to get him killed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Love is Just a) Bloodsport

Connor smiles and holds out his hands. Sam steps forward, loose and lissome, and slides his hands into Connor's, dipping into his normal faux-curtsey. Liam watches, lips pressed together, as Connor grips tight and digs his nails into Sam's skin.

"I've always been curious, _caoimhe_ ," Connor says. "You work at Frankie's, you're the best whore in the city, but no one knows where you came from or who trained you. No one knows anything about you, Sam. If I ask, will you tell me?"

Sam laughs as he straightens; the sound coils around Liam, sends chills up and down his flesh, goosebumps chasing goosebumps. Liam's mouth is dry, his eyes focused on the curve of Sam's neck and the way the curls of his hair fly outwards and float in the air.

"Connor," Sam says. There's heat in the word, some dark and hidden promise in the name, and Liam thinks -- not for the first time -- that they never should have given Sam their real names. Names have power and if there's one person, one _creature_ , who might use that against them someday, it will be Sam. "Connor, if I haven't told anyone else, why do you think I'll tell you, hmm? Do you think I like you more than the others? Do you think you're _worthy_ of my secrets?"

Liam's cousin blinks, then smiles. It's meant to be a creeping, serpentine smile, Liam thinks, but the expression isn't quite there. Sam does better.

Connor lifts Sam's hand to his mouth, plants a kiss on Sam's knuckle before biting down. Sam doesn't show any hint of pain, even as blood's dripping from the corner of Connor's lips. Connor smiles, bares his blood-stained teeth, and straightens.

"Very well," Connor finally says. "Keep your secrets, Sam. It's your performance I'm interested in, at any rate."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "My performance?" he asks, the tone of his question frozen over with satin. "Have I ever given you reason to doubt my performance, Connor?"

"Hardly," Connor replies. "And yet. As I said, I find myself curious."

Liam moves at that; he steps closer to the strange centerpiece that Sam and Connor make, together, even though it is so very clear that Sam is the main figure and Connor is the last-minute addition, beautiful by himself but inexpertly sculpted in comparison. "You know what they say about curiosity," Liam says, and he stills as Sam's eyes flick to him.

Sam's smiling even as Connor turns and shows Liam an expression of displeasure, buried but still present, still easy for Liam to read. "I should think," Connor says, slowly, turning back to Sam, "that death in the pursuit of the answers I desire would be worth it."

"You should be careful what you wish for," Sam murmurs. This time, he's the one who leans, who bends down. Sam inhales the skin at the juncture of Connor's neck and shoulder, like an animal scenting its prey. "You might," Sam goes on, licking at Connor's skin, "get it."

Connor laughs.

Liam wishes he could step back, wishes he wasn't here and didn't know anything about Sam, but even as he wants to retreat, he can't. Even as he wishes, his eyes are stuck on the curve of Sam's back, the head radiating outward from Sam, the sense-memory of Sam's mouth on him, Sam's hands, Sam's ass and dick and tongue.

"So," Sam finally says. "What have you planned for tonight, Connor? Should I be worried?"

Connor grins; it doesn't hold the edge that Sam's smile does and yet the two of them have never looked so alike to Liam.

"An answer to one of my questions," Connor says. "Liam and I shall leave you to dress. Everything's ready for you. Join us when you're done."

Sam's eyes, his fox-tilted green eyes, pinned on Connor with a predator's single-mindedness, narrow. He doesn't argue, though. Sam simply inclines his head and licks his lips, strolling away with a hip-swing that leaves Liam hard and aching.

Liam turns to Connor once he can pull his eyes away, once the door to the dressing room has closed with a muted snick. "Do you know what you're doing?" Liam asks. It's not the first time he's felt he's had to.

Connor's still smiling as he moves, walks behind Liam. He wraps his arms around Liam's waist, rests his chin on Liam's shoulder. Both of them are facing the direction Sam left; Liam knows that both of them want nothing more than to call Sam back, to strip Sam here and take his mouth, his ass, hard and desperate. Sam does that to both of them but he draws something gleefully suicidal out of Connor, something quiet and full of regret out of Liam. Liam regrets much when it comes to Sam but Connor is still alive.

For now.

"Of course," Connor soothes, pressing kisses to Liam's neck. "Of course, _m'eudail_. Always. You trust me, don't you?"

There's nothing for Liam to say except, "You know I do." He's not brave enough, hasn't reached the point yet, to add, 'I just don't trust Sam.' He hopes Connor hears it anyway.

Connor pulls away, the sudden loss leaving Liam reeling, torn between Sam and Connor, his drug and his cousin. "Come, Liam," Connor says, imperious the way he's always been. "I'll introduce you to our guest."

\--

They walk to the ballroom and there's a woman standing there, waiting for them. Liam takes her in, head to toe, and then looks at his cousin.

"What the hell are you trying to prove?" Liam asks, hissing under his breath.

Connor merely shoots him a smile and goes over to the woman, reaching out with both hands to take hers, to bow over them. "We're so pleased you could join us," he says, loud enough for Liam to hear.

She smiles, laughs, and the sound echoes around the room, dances around Liam with all the force of a sledgehammer. Liam blinks, sways, and has to lean against the wall to keep from falling.

"No," he says. "No, Connor, what the hell. You can't. Are you?"

Connor looks pleased as he says, "Oh, I am. Sam's not the only one who has gifts and skills, _m'eudail_. It wasn't so hard to find another."

Liam catches his breath, waits for his heart to start beating again, then studies her closely. The same tip-tilted eyes as Sam, the same lush cruelty in the angle of her smile. She's wearing blue, a blue so pale it might as well be white, and the small dress doesn't do anything to hide what's underneath. Her skin glows as if the sun's beating down on it and the heels look uncomfortable but seem natural on her, an extension of her body that clicks on the floor as she shifts position. Liam looks for tattoos but doesn't find a single one.

"You found everything satisfactory, I trust?" Connor asks.

She smiles, tongue darting out to wet her lips, and Liam has to close his eyes. Sam has the rune to pull on and he does; sometimes being this close to Sam is its own brand of torture. This woman, this creature, she has no connection to Liam, has never met him before, and yet she's inspiring the same type of reaction. Liam wonders how Connor can be so casual in her presence, why he isn't affected, but then her smile grows and Liam's vision whites out.

He must miss something as he's recovering, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest. When he opens his eyes again, when he can see and breathe and control himself, Connor's walking back towards him and there's a table behind the woman covered in whips and knives and canes.

"Her name is Mairéad," Connor murmurs, once he's sitting down next to Liam. "Finding her was simple but it took simply _forever_ to convince her that I'd a plaything worthy of her."

Liam watches her, finally says, "What did it take?" His throat is dry; the words sting as they come out like knives against him.

He glances sideways to see Connor's smile. "An offering," Connor replies. "A small offering. It made an impression."

Liam would say more but the door to the costuming room opens and Sam steps out; Liam loses the ability to think.

\--

The faded jeans are gone, as is the tattered Zeppelin t-shirt, left behind in the dressing room as if they'd never existed. Instead, Sam's dressed in black, a colour that has always looked good on him. Black's a counterpoint to Sam's smooth and tanned skin, makes the black look darker and Sam's skin seem more golden, highlights the cat-like colour and shape of his eyes, brings out subtle blond highlights in Sam's hair.

The boxer-briefs are cotton, Liam thinks; they cling to Sam's thighs and hips, do nothing to hide the outline of his cock, somehow accentuate how sleek Sam appears to be. The corset, that can't be comfortable, as tight as it looks to be laced, black PVC with ribbon criss-crossing down the front and trailing off right in front of Sam's crotch. In the far back of his mind, Liam wonders how the hell Sam laced it so tight, all by himself, but the majority of his brain has stopped working as he takes in the collar around Sam's throat and the way Sam's hair flutters over it, the eyeliner and the way Sam's gaze seems liquid inside of it, the bare feet and the way Sam's walking, the corset accentuating Sam's hips, his normal sashaying turned into something erotic and deadly.

"Ah," Mairéad breathes. "I begin to see."

Liam wonders how she can even talk.

Sam comes to a stop. He takes in Mairéad and pulls on the rune, his head tilted to one side. Mairéad laughs, does something that Liam can feel but can't see, and Sam turns motionless.

"Aye," Mairéad croons. "I'm one of you, _a maidrín_. Or, should I say, you're one of _us_. It's time to see where you fall, though. I'll admit, I look forward to this."

Sam's smile is hard and cold, but beautiful. "One of you," he echoes, thoughtful. His eyes flick to Connor, then back to Mairéad, and Sam's smile tightens the slightest degree. "I see."

\--

Mairéad has Sam kneel, first; he doesn't protest. She strokes his hair, slides her fingers along his cheek, trails her nails over the plane of his shoulders.

"How came you to be one of us?" she asks. "To use other men's desire for your benefit and to heal, to pull lust out of women and to feed on the dreams and needs of humans?"

Sam looks up at her, some spark of dark laughter in his eyes. "Why should I tell you?"

Liam shivers as the room chills. Connor, next to him, shudders; it doesn't appear as if Connor even notices as his body betrays him. He wonders what Sam's thinking, why Sam's arguing so quickly, it isn't like Sam. Then again, Liam never thought there were others like Sam. As much as Mairéad seems older, more secure in what she can do, Liam doubts she'll leave from this unscathed. No one walks away from Sam without losing something.

She's smiling as she replies, "What reason do you have to hide it, _a maidrín_? It seems a simple question and one that others could just as easily answer."

"The final step, perhaps," Sam says, conceding that point to her. "But not everything. Not from the beginning. And that's not something I'll share."

Mairéad pouts. "Not even with me?"

Sam shakes his head, just once. Liam's eyes are fixed on the play of light and shadow over Sam's face, the harsh darkness under his cheekbones and around his eyes and the glimmer of his lips, wet with gloss.

She takes one step back, watching Sam.

Liam gets it, now: Sam's laying down a line and doing it early. Sam wants her to know that he isn't a child; he may not have been whatever he is now for as long as she has, but he's whored. He's fucked and been fucked by so many people that he's learned the limits of what he can do, stretched them as much as possible, even gone beyond what Liam had once been sure Sam was capable of.

Mairéad must understand that. She tilts her head and studies Sam, finally smiles. "Well, well, well," she purrs. "You _are_ a special one, _a maidrín_. I shall enjoy this very, very much."

She turns on the spot, her dress flaring up and drawing attention to her hips, the curve of her ass. Liam's never been attracted to women sexually, has, at most, felt appreciation for their beauty, but his eyes remain fixed to the spot between her legs and he can't help wondering what it would feel like to bury himself in her, to press her down and fuck her until she screams.

"She is glorious, is she not?" Connor asks in a whisper as they both watch Mairéad glide to the table full of toys and run her hands over them.

Liam nods but then gasps, catching his breath as the connection between him and Sam heats up past burning. Liam can barely hold himself upright and his heart stutters as Sam _yanks_. Liam comes, just like that, and Connor reaches over as Liam's still panting. Connor's fingers settle lightly on the wet spot; Liam shivers under the touch even as he's sweating from the feeling of Sam.

Mairéad's watching him when Liam looks up; her eyes have changed colour, are practically indigo in the darkness of the room. Her nostrils flare, take in his scent and the smell of his come, drying against his skin, and she turns to Sam, studying him with the same intensity, a different calculation from before.

"He was your first after you became one of us. The connection runs wide. He loves you," she says, slowly, as if she's tasting the words before speaking them. "You terrify him but he loves you and he cannot bring himself to leave you. You have broken him to that depth. I am." She pauses, fingers tracing the contours of the whip in her hands. "I am impressed. That is not easy to do, _a maidrín_."

Sam doesn't move except to let the edges of his lips curl upwards.

"I find myself intrigued," she goes on. "That, as well, is not something many can lay claim to. Of course, more might if I didn't have a habit of killing those I am done with."

"You won't be able to kill me," Sam replies, in much the same tone. He sounds so self-assured that Liam blinks; what does Sam know that he doesn't? Judging by the way Connor's reacting, tensing up and leaning forward to watch more closely, Connor doesn't know what's changed either.

Mairéad nods, thoughtful, then says, "I believe you're correct." Liam tries to see what she has; her eyes aren't on Sam, though, but on the area beyond him, as if she's tracing something outwards from Sam, tracking something. Liam glances at the wall, the door, but he can't see what she can. He doesn't know what's put that dangerous gleam in Sam's eyes or lined Sam's muscles with sudden tension.

A twist in the air, the sense of something colliding, and Mairéad steps backwards, looks as if she's been _knocked_ backwards. Sam hasn't moved, though, except to press his lips together, thin and pale against the glowing tan of the rest of him.

"Ah," she murmurs. She reaches out the hand holding the whip, lets the edge of the handle trace along Sam's collarbone then dip to ghost over the edges of the tattoo over Sam's heart, peeking out above the edges of the corset. "A _fíorghrá_. How quaint."

"Quaint," Sam says, peering up through his eyelashes, "but useful nonetheless. Tell me, Mairéad: how many of you can say you have the same benefits?"

Her stance changes at that question, some wariness that Liam didn't see before. "Aye, and you're clever as well." She flicks her eyes at Connor, then tells Sam, "Our host tells me that you heal as we do, and that you did even before you became one of us. Enlighten me, _a maidrín_ : is this why you deal in pain? Have you been trained to it or is it innate?"

Sam's body doesn't display any of the tension Mairéad's doing nothing to hide. Liam wonders why not, has no idea when the balance of power shifted to the one on his knees, but he thinks that, perhaps, it has always been with Sam. Something about the man remains shrouded in mystery, something that gives Sam a type of power no one can carve away from him, some self-assurance, some choice, even.

With sudden insight, Liam turns to look at Connor. That's what Connor wants. After all of the fucking, after the shows of dominance and the whoring out, all Connor really wants from Sam is an answer, that and the hold it will give him over Sam. Connor's asked and asked but Sam's always refused to say anything; Connor keeps pushing in all the wrong ways and is too blind to see that Sam will tire of playing the game eventually.

That tiring may come sooner rather than later, now that Connor's got supernatural creatures involved. Between the three of them, Sam's never claimed to be entirely human; to meet others like him, to involve things not entirely of this world, it hints at the lengths that Connor is willing to go to.

Liam blinks, shocked as the realisation rocks through him, and he's missed something when he finally looks back at Sam and Mairéad. Sam's grinning at her, practically laughing, and she's fuming.

"You think it's funny?" she's saying. "To kneel there and hold your tongue? Think I came all this way for you to sit and laugh at me?"

"No," Sam replies. "I don't think it's funny to kneel at your feet. But, _caitín_ ," he spits, his entire expression changing in the blink of an eye, "I think it's fucking hilarious that Connor, a mere human, bribed you with a taste of my blood and you were too eager at the thought of having a male in your grasp to pay attention to what you were licking."

Mairéad snarls. The whip in her hand unfurls and cracks a moment later, striking Sam's collarbone. The whip's beautiful, one of Connor's latest acquisitions, and it suits Mairéad: a black-and-blue braided handle, woven in a checkerboard pattern, thin and long. Mairéad's eyes are on Sam as a threadlike line of blood appears on his skin; Liam's watching the bullwhip. Six-feet, sixteen-plait, kangaroo -- they paid good money for it and there was never any doubt that it was meant for Sam.

The wound's bleeding, sluggishly. It will stop soon, maybe already has, but Mairéad's striding towards Sam, digs the handle into the raised stripe of blooming crimson. Sam smiles, eyes shadowed, as she bends down and presses her lips to his skin, mouth fitting over the cut. She sucks, looks as if she might be biting down as well, and Sam allows it, kneels there and lets her take whatever she wants from him.

She moves to pull away, too soon and not soon enough for Liam's taste, but Sam cups the back of her head, tangles his fingers in her hair, and forces her to keep going. "Come now, Mairéad," he croons. "You came all this way based on a taste. You might as well get your fill while you're here."

Mairéad struggles but Sam holds her in place for a good minute, finally shoving her away. She lands on her ass, legs spread and face smeared with blood, teeth bared and indigo eyes narrowed. She looks like nothing human, nothing _good_.

"Connor," Liam asks, as quietly as possible, "what have you brought into our home?"

Sam laughs and shifts, the corset moving as he breathes and repositions. "Liam, darling. Are you talking about her," he asks, "or me?"

\--

Mairéad crawls over to Sam once she's regained her composure, uses his shoulders to help stand up. The light's good enough for Liam to see crescent-shaped cuts in Sam's shoulders once Mairéad's upright.

Her smile is gone, as is any thought that she can control Sam, that she can snap her fingers and Sam will come to heel like a dog. Whatever Sam knows, whatever secrets he holds, they're enough to let him stand up to her.

It's obvious she hates it.

"So you let the men fuck you," she says, dispassionately. "You get on your knees for them, play on all fours for them, let them take your mouth and your ass for money and drugs. Fine. But have you ever fucked a woman, _a maidrín_? Or are you clueless when it comes to tits and cunts?"

Sam's smile turns razor-edged. Mairéad scowls as if she's been cut a thousand times over.

"Oh," Sam purrs. "I prefer cock, Mairéad, but I know how to please women." Mairéad opens her mouth but Sam cuts her off, head tilted at an angle to let his hair cast one side of his face into shadows. "Just because I know, don't think I'll prove it on your body. Whip me if you'd like, fuck me with anything on that table, cut me up and leave me bleeding if it gets you off. I'm not going to give you one ounce of my participation. If you want anything from me, you'll have to take it yourself."

Mairéad's scowl deepens and spreads across her face. She's clenching her fists so tight that her knuckles are turning white and the lithe muscles in her arms are shaking with fury.

"Doesn't it hurt," Sam says, "to know that you can't make me, either."

Mairéad lets loose with a long trail of Irish that Liam can't make sense of, then she slaps Sam. It's hard enough that Sam's head turns from the force of the blow, a handprint fading into his skin a moment later. "I can take whatever I want," she hisses. "You'd never be able to stop me."

Sam shrugs, an easy movement that screams of dismissal. "I'll heal. I always do."

Connor tsks; both Sam and Mairéad ignore him as he says, "Come now, _caoimhe_. Surely a little hospitality for our guest?"

Sam laughs and the sound chimes around Liam, light and airy in direct contrast to the thrumming tension in the air. "Not my guest, Connor. I'm merely one of the performers."

"But you aren't performing," Connor points out.

"Oh," Sam says. "I am. I'm just reading from a different script."

Liam's blood freezes in his veins. He's sure, absolutely _positive_ , that this is the moment when Sam shows them all what he's truly capable of. This is the moment when Connor dies in a bloody mess and Sam walks out wearing nothing but an enigmatically pleased smile. Liam can _taste_ it and he's thrown off-kilter when Connor rises and starts to clap.

Mairéad moves back from Sam, crosses her arms over her chest. Liam's looking between the three others, trying to understand why Connor's so pleased, why Mairéad's smiling at Sam with _fondness_ written all over her face.

"What?" he asks. Connor doesn't look at him but Sam and Mairéad do. "Connor? I don't. What's just happened?"

"He's strong," Mairéad says to Connor, ignoring Liam. "I think he'll do well. She'll love him. I approve, Connor." Connor grins and Mairéad turns to Sam, then. She crouches down, trails her fingernails down Sam's cheek. "Not _a maidrín_ , then. You, _a leanbh_ , are as strong as a wolf and as fierce as a hound. One of us in all the ways that matter. _A conmhaol_."

Liam's slumped against the wall but he has to laugh. Sam, a wolf -- there are so many other ways to describe Sam and Liam's never thought of a wolf before but it fits. It fits almost too well, even with the serpentine intelligence peering out of Sam's fox-tilted eyes.

Connor runs a hand through Sam's hair, eyes fixed on Mairéad. Liam watches as Sam kneels, motionless, sits through Connor's nails scratchig his scalp and Mairéad's lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along his jawline. Sam's eyes move, though, his gaze turning to Liam. Sam's eyes smoulder and Liam heats up, a moment away from burning.

Sam looks amused, the twist of his lips, the shadow of his cheekbones, but in his eyes, deeper than Liam's ever had the courage to look before, there's a fierce wrath growing, a feral calculation that's turning cold and digging in deep.

Liam shivers. Neither Mairéad nor Connor saw that look.

\--

Liam still doesn't know what's happening, even when Mairéad's setting down the whip and turning into a mass of black smoke, disappearing into thin air. His head aches as he watches Connor take her place and crouch down in front of Sam.

"I don't like games, Connor," Sam says.

Connor's smile is self-assured. Liam thinks his cousin is dancing on the edge of insanity when he says, "And yet you play them, and you play them _well_ , _caoimhe_. One of these days I'm going to think the whore doth protest too much."

Sam laughs and Connor stands, walks away.

"Liam will take you back to Frankie's," Connor says, making a gesture of dismissal. "I've had my entertainment."

The eagerness in Connor's voice has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with a plan coming together. Liam's cautious; he thinks, despite the jealousy, despite his own need, that it would be safer for Connor to be pulling Sam towards a bed rather than leaving this room by himself.

Before Liam can say anything, Connor's gone. He looks at Sam, takes in Sam's unmarked and glowing skin, the rich darkness of the corset. Sam smiles and begins to move, crawling over to Liam on all fours. Liam's frozen, can only watch as Sam moves, prowling, with his hips swinging from side to side and his ass high in the air, eyes dark with laughter.

When he gets to Liam, Sam straddles his legs, leans forward and takes Liam's mouth in a kiss that's searing. "Take me back to Frankie's," Sam breathes into Liam's mouth as soon as his tongue's left to make room for the words. "We'll get high and fuck, for _hours_."

"Connor," Liam says, even as his dick's filling with blood, mind imagining Sam naked and spread out beneath him, the air filled with a haze of heroin and his body loose and hard at the same time.

"Won't miss you," Sam replies, grinding down. The words sting, all the more so because of how true they are.

Liam tries to reign in his body, says, "He's planning something," but Sam cuts him off again, hands cupping Liam's face, thumbs swiping the dark and sunken-in circles under Liam's eyes.

Sam's kiss is light, almost comforting. "I know," Sam murmurs. "I'll be ready when he's done. Don't worry, Liam. I'll be fine."

He should be worried. He should be upset that he's more worried about Sam than Connor, that he's more focused on Sam than Connor, but Liam simply glides his hands down the corset and lets them rest on Sam's hips. The rune between them hums, makes Liam's heart stutter and skip a beat.

"Take me home, Liam," Sam whispers. He stands, offers Liam a hand, and waits.

God and Connor forgive him; Liam takes Sam's hand.

\--

Sam changes back into his jeans and t-shirt before they leave the house. Liam drives fast and breaks every speed limit and traffic law on the books. Frankie doesn't say anything when they walk into the bar, merely raises an eyebrow and watches them. Sam's got Liam by the hand and tugs him upstairs, ignoring everyone else who's trying to get his attention.

They go into Sam's working room and Sam lets go of Liam, stands there and gives Liam a coquettish look from under his eyelashes. The heat from before comes back, searing through Liam's body. It's all he can do to tear the clothes from Sam's body, rip his own off, push Sam to the bed.

"Fuck me or get high?" Sam asks, leaning back on his elbows, legs spread and dick half-hard. "Which one first, Liam?"

Liam considers the question for half a second, then moves to Sam. He pushes one of Sam's legs up and spits on his other hand, using that saliva as he shoves two fingers inside of Sam's hole. It has to hurt, has to have torn, but Sam merely hums in pleasure and stretches his legs wider.

"Come on, then," Sam purrs, arching his back. Hair flies every which way, curls catching the light coming in through the window. The tattoo above Sam's heart glimmers crimson. "Fuck me, Liam. You don't have to be gentle about it. Wanna feel you, want it to hurt."

"It will," Liam promises. He takes his fingers out, lines up his cock, and thrusts into Sam's ass. A high, mewling noise spills out of Sam's lips; if the tight heat of Sam wasn't already enough to have Liam losing his mind and seeing red, hearing that noise would propel him there fast enough. "How's that, Sam?" he asks, nails digging into any part of Sam he can find, digging in and holding tight as if he can bury more of himself inside of Sam, disappear inside of this creature who enthralls him and terrifies him in turn. "Hard enough for you? Hurting yet?"

Sam pushes back, meeting Liam's every thrust, and he turns his head, looks at Liam over his shoulder. "More," he demands, eyes holding the same command as his tone of voice. " _Harder_."

Liam tries. It's vicious and he can see blood when he looks down, watches the place where his dick is pushing in and out of Sam. His mind breaks apart, spiralling away from him, as Sam tugs on the rune, tugs and then clenches tight around Liam's cock. It's all Liam can do to hold on.

He comes with a long, gutteral moan and, distantly, thinks it sounds more like he's in pain that having just climaxed. Something about that shakes him but his vision has gone white and his knees are weak. Someone laughs and pulls his arm; Liam tumbles onto the bed without protest.

"It wasn't the best we've ever had," Sam murmurs, shifting as Liam lies there. "But it wasn't the worst," Sam adds, and then licks at Liam's dick, short, kittenish swipes of his tongue.

Liam doesn't say anything, not until Sam's done and is lying on his stomach, one hand playing lazily with the hair trailing down from Liam's belly-button.

"Do I have to go downstairs for the h?" Liam asks. The thought of getting up, much less facing Frankie, upsets him. He wants to lie here, naked and loose, easy, roll over and snort a line of heroin off of Sam's hipbone.

"I wouldn't make you do that," Sam says, laughter riding the coattails of his words. "Poor, poor Liam. I have some in here. I'll get it."

How Sam can move is beyond Liam; Sam twists and stands up in an action too smooth for anything human before Liam can protest. Liam's used to seeing Sam in motion but it doesn't change the fact that it takes his breath away every time. Sam pads over to the dresser, pulls out a drawer and rummages through it for a moment.

Liam closes his eyes, listens to the crinkle of a plastic baggie, drawers opening and closing, finally cracks an eyelid when the mattress dips. Sam's holding out the baggie and a fifty dollar bill; Liam sits up enough to take both.

"Where?" Sam asks, a full syringe and needle in his other hand.

"Your hip," Liam says.

Sam spreads out on the bed, body sex-loose, and Liam lays out a line of heroin along the jut of Sam's hipbone. He rolls the bill tight and then leans down, snorting the drug in one clean inhale, throwing the money away as if it means less than nothing and lying back down. Sam's playing with Liam's hair, nails scratching Liam's scalp, for the few minutes the drug takes before it hits Liam's blood.

Liam blinks, smiles hazily, and takes the needle Sam's offering with both hands, as if it's something sacred, something precious. "Wanna," Liam breathes, trails off because he can't find the words to say what he wants to see. "All over you."

"Sounds like fun," Sam says, and Liam's high enough to think Sam sounds almost _gentle_. "But another time, when you're more awake. Pick a spot, Liam."

"Mmm." Liam trails the tip of the needle up Sam's arm, down his chest, eyes catching on the few specks of white sticking to the skin over Sam's hip. He jabs the needle into Sam's thigh, presses in the plunger, and Sam's grinning a moment after Liam tosses the needle to the floor.

Sam leans forward, kisses Liam's neck. " _A conmhaol_ ," Liam murmurs, at the hint of teeth pressing against his jugular.

"That's what she said," Sam says, before collapsing back to the bed, stretching out and then curling into Liam's heat.

"Was she right?" Liam asks. Sam hums, a noise of inquiry, and Liam swallows. "Mairéad. She said you love me. Was she right?"

Sam turns a deep and liquid gaze on him. Liam doesn't move, doesn't breathe, and his heart skips a beat when Sam smiles. It isn't a comforting expression. "Yes. Yes, I suppose so. In a way."

It takes a moment for that to sink in. Liam doesn't know how someone -- some _thing_ \-- like Sam has the capacity for love, but there was something else that Mairéad mentioned. "I'm not your _fíorghrá_ ," Liam says, half a question.

"No," Sam says. "And you should probably be thankful for that." Sam smiles, the softest expression Liam's ever seen cross Sam's face, and says, "You're my friend, Liam."

Liam gets chills even as he's relieved beyond words. Sam pulls the blanket up higher and snuggles in closer, closes his eyes. Sam falls asleep fast, like he's been able to do ever since Liam met him, but Liam's awake, wide-awake with tension thrumming through every nerve, every muscle.

Whoever Sam's _fíorghrá_ is, he hopes they're strong enough to survive. As night lightens into dawn, Liam finally closes his eyes.

He doubts it.


End file.
